An Introduction to Summer
by Xanthous Xyster
Summary: An Epic's opening chapter. Three characters begin down the paths that will set their own destinies and the rest of the pokemon world's. A new team is forming and an old age is dying. This is that old age's death, the preview before the opening theme plays that sets the stage for an epic that will never be sung.


An Introduction to Summer

The First Chapter of The Hyper Beam Pointed at the Fabric of the Universe

Book 1 of The Paths They Walk Trilogy

-0-

A spotlight shines down on a black screen, slowly illuminating the porygon-sharp features of a lab coat-clad old man. He blurs and then comes into focus, evolving into a metaphorical porygon2. The light reflects off his hair like a whole wailord died to provide the necessary oil. He smiles. "Hello there! Welcome to the wild world of pokemon! My name is Oak. However, most people call me the Pokemon Professor!" The screen flashes and a field full of fleeing purugly appears, chased by a herd of stampeding bouffalant, each grain of kicked-up dust and dirt visible but clouding the outlines of many other species following after. Professor Oak's pokemon-propagandizing voice soothes over the flashes of pokemon in different habitats, "Pokemon have long since become a daily part of our society;" —a young human baby is batting at a marill's bobbing tail— "some people keep pokemon as friends or pets, others as vital assistants," —a hariyama carries two youths slung over its back out of a burning building— "and still others as combatants in battle." A guitar riff blares as a darmanitan's flame streams under a leaping ampharos, a grid of electricity already dancing back towards the spherical assailant. "And as exciting as their powers are, doubly exciting are the many mysteries behind those powers. That's why people like me study pokemon everyday! And now, eager trainers, challenges await, dreams and adventures abound, and our very own pokemon journey is just about to begin!"

-1-

The child was over at the window.

The last three days had been cloudy. Or maybe the last five. Or maybe the whole week. And by the looks of it, it would probably never be sunny again. The child sighed, reclosed the blinds, and returned to the spot in front of the TV and in front of Papa.

He had switched the channel to the news, but that didn't matter. The child would still watch. And the news would still be as dreadful as ever. "The latest blast in the hydro pump of crime bursting through the nations is the murder of environmental activist and believed crime lord, leader of the Team Aqua syndicate, Archie. He was found earlier this morning drowned in his Slateport City beach house pool. His death succeeding yesterday's brutal burning of Team Magma's leader Maxie, accompanied by the dissolution of several other crime syndicates and the still missing criminal kingpin, Don Giovanni, has created what authorities fear might be a vacuum waiting to be filled by the creation of a so-called supersyndicate. Furthering the authorities' fears is the rising gang known as Team Ditto which has just released this statement claiming to be behind both the murders of Archie and Maxie as well as the recent break-in at Mossdeep Space Center.

A shapeless, shifting, violet mass replaced the broadcaster, and a chorus of passionless voices hers, "People of this world, we of Team Ditto have held a mirror to your transgressions and the reflection is the demand for retribution. And the mirror coat will always be the stronger, and the counter always the more pronounced. For more suffering shall be the response to suffering. More pain, the response to pain. Death, the sole response to death." Slowly, throughout the recording, the camera was zooming out, revealing lines of uniformed men on either side of the blob, all in black suits, all hiding their eyes with a pair of ditto glasses, the gag kind one could pick up at any local pokemart, where thin pieces of purple paper were dotted with ditto's small, untransformed eyes and framed by cheap plastic. "In response to the mankind's leaders' apathy towards pokemon, towards the environment, and towards the citizens of the nations, Team Ditto has struck back, rekindling the hope of humanity's almost cold ashes. Crime is not and will never be tolerated.—"

"Oh Gio, this is just dreadful. Won't you change it back?" Ellinore burst out. Her pencil's scratching had ceased and her lamp was knocked askew, the light glaring off the television screen.

Papa paused, straining to get every last bit of information from the report, aware of Ellinore's tense eyes upon him. Then, he grunted and teased, "Of course, anything for my little magby."

Ellinore huffed.

Papa raised the remote and changed the channel; the TV turned to static then into a new, clear image. A shadow flitted across the curtains.

-2-

Bill, inventor, socialite, genius, pokemaniac extraordinaire, was playing a round of Voltorb Flip on his watch. He moved his finger back and forth, hesitating between two cards before jabbing down. A voltorb showed its ugly sneering visage, flashed red, and exploded. "Just my luck." Bill flipped his watch closed. Saffron City's custom's line stretched out in front of and behind him.

Directly behind him, Prof. Rowan was muttering to himself.

"Rowan. Yo Prof," Bill snapped his fingers, trying to get the older gentleman's attention, "Bill used earthquake. Rowan's head is up in the clouds. Rowan is unaffected." The professor's brown eyes sharpened, piercing Bill's. "Chill out. I just wanted to relate that I have thought of a most wonderful idea, perhaps the greatest of our age. Now, it might sound a little radical, a little crazy, a slight curveball in the baseball diamond of the mind; an unintelligent, backwater denizen of Orre might have to chew the cud on the idea for days to see the genius, I understand that, but a citified, upright, well-educated, quite spiffing man of the Capital gentry— much like yourself— would be unable to dismiss the genuine practicality in the pursuit of such a perfect preposition. So, hear me out." Bill quieted his voice, leaning closer to the professor, building the anticipation, and whispered for the third time, "Why don't we cut ahead? I'll start by raising my arms and waving, Hey, Bill here—

"No," Rowan spoke his low-toned voice slowly as from a faraway dream, "our client wants to—

"keep our meeting discreet," Bill finished, his voice loud again, his bored eyes rolling across the crowd. "Yeah, I heard you the first two times. It's just that they'll recognize us when we get to the end of the line anyway. That is, if we ever get to the end of the line." The numbers said they were getting closer; 15 people still ahead, 9 female, 6 male, 47 others visible behind, 34 female, 13 male,— why so many women?— more outside or around the corner, 6 Saffron City Guards at the poke ball detectors, 2 more in the observation room, 7 just lolling about in the back, 8 natu spaced out around the room, perched in their observation of the crowd, and exeggcute's eggs hidden in the walls. But, ah, the natu had found something.

All the globular green birds crossed lines of sight, wings still, bodies composed, their eyes blinking rapidly, relaying information. But who was it? Bill put his hand on Rowan and pointed, "Look." Rowan's arm tensed under Bill; his heart skipped, his hand reached down to his waist for a poke ball, and Bill squeezed reassuringly. "Not for us, my man. Not yet. Just observe."

In the observation room, an officer gave a signal. Two moved from the back of the room. Their target was a slouched grimer of a figure 3 spots in line behind Rowan, his hand was deep into the bag of the young girl in front of him. A ragged sleeve dotted with holes did its best to cover the arm back out of the bag, a smile equipped with a gold tooth gleamed beneath the cracked lips and unkempt beard of a dirty face framed by literal dirty blonde hair, oily down to his shoulders.

As Bill watched, the man's face tightened, his grin becoming cartoonishly large. One of the guards clapped his hand on the culprit's shoulder, "Sir, you are under arrest for the planned robbery of this young girl. If you'd come with me." The officer looked as bored as Bill; the culprit didn't even react and the girl whose bag his arm ensconced deep within didn't even notice. Jerkily but without creating any commotion, the culprit brought his arm out, turned, and practically led the Saffron City Guard to the detainment room, but Bill— and judging by the increased tension in Rowan's arm, so did he— managed to catch a glimpse of the detained eyes. Darting back and forth like a caught rattata, those eyes, blood-shot, bulging in paroxysms of fear, they were horror, a perfect picture conveying the pure terror that the body did not, while the man's arms and legs moved on their own volition.

"Arceus," Bill cursed quietly. The natu were controlling the man's body, just caught and immediately a prisoner.

Bill was ignorant of such a security measure. In fact, he had designed the rest of the system— or the basis for it, who knew how far the guards had taken his ideas? Besides the poke ball detectors and x-ray scanners, there was a two-fold psychic prevention and detection system in place. The natu, present here as throughout the nations, steadily watched the people's steady flow and their future flow, while exeggcute's separated eggs with a unique ability to sense the emotions and intentions of every person between them were located in layers throughout the city and at the entrances. The idea was that the exeggcute could help locate and wheedle out whom the natu should focus their attention upon. Now, Bill surmised, the natu also took the criminals under their control, locking them down to prevent violence and to keep anything unseemly out of site. Hopefully, that was the only thing added or things were about to go south.—

"Bill? Bill Saiph!?" One of the guards who had come to escort the thief had evidently stayed, stayed to recognize Bill. "What are you doing back here? A man like you doesn't have to wait in lines."

"Saffron City Officer Dirk! Well, I would never presume," Bill began in fake modesty.

The heavyset man's eyes welled up, joy contorting his face in an unexpected way. "You remember my name!" He lets out a giddy shriek.

Bill made it a habit to remember every face and name of any person he met. He made it a habit, as his father had made it a habit for him, telling him time and time again the importance of showing you care about others, the difference putting on a show can make, the respect it can earn a man.

"Keith!" Saffron City Officer Dirk yelled. "Get this fine man into our city at once."

His arm was around Bill and they were bulldozing through people. Bill had just time to pull Rowan along, "And my compatriot. You've heard of Professor Rowan, the world's leading expert on evolution." Saffron City Officer Dirk didn't seem to care about the professor and the professor didn't seem to care about his environment either.

And then they were beside the poke ball detector. No running away, now.

Keith could have been Dirk's twin for all the likeness in the two's appearances; the difference, if any, was that he was more excited to see Bill. "Wow, the son of the nations' hero and a legend in his own right coming through my gate!? What's it like when you two sit down for dinner?"

"With my father?" Bill laughed. "Crowded. He's the size of a snorlax. No table he sits at has room for two." The guards were laughing as well. Bill eyed the downcast professor, catching from his babbling:

"Ellinore, Ellinore, Ellinore, will you ever forgive me?"

Bill spoke over the professor's words, "I brought you guys something; I know you guys can get pretty thirsty here on the job, so..." Bill dug into his pouch, and pulled out a bag of tea leaves, "Leaves from Prismoplis' cherrim farms, they'll make the finest tea in the nations."

Keith and Dirk looked excited, but they would probably be just as excited if Bill were handing them a rock. "Wow! From Bill himself." They spoke together, switching off words. "We'll make sure to share this with the other guards. Is there anything we can do to deserve this?"

A bribe. Greed. Every man, woman, and child in this room was feeling it. The guards, too. As the commonest emotion, a crime related to it would easily pass under the psychic watch. The exeggcute probably hardly noticed such an emotion anymore, after this much exposure to humans, sensing greed would be like breathing air to them (if they even did breathe air, Bill began to wonder). It wasn't a malicious crime, no one was going to be hurt by it. In fact, it was mutually beneficial. The guards were treated to a finery they'd never come close to otherwise, and Bill, well, Bill and Rowan got to take care of their business. Everyone was better off at the end of it all. Still, Bill could almost feel the natu's eyes scratching at his insides.

"Well, actually, I'd appreciate it if you could just leave the two of us off the records. The old man keeps track of where I go and I'm technically supposed to be in school at the moment."

"Of course, I can let you guys slide this time," Dirk had leaned in and whispered. His smile had grown even wider the longer the conversation with Bill had continued. "We'll still have to go through the formalities."

"If you don't mind, that is," Keith chimecho-ed in, "Mr. Bill, sir. Er, Mr. Saiph."

Bill smiled back, waving his arm, motioning for the officers to continue.

"Right, then. If you'd take off any radio or communication devices that may disrupt or be disrupted by the machine."

Disruption? Bill aimed his own ever-widening smile at Rowan. Unfazed by the other's complete lack of acknowledgment, Bill tapped a button on his watch as he took it off, setting it down next to the poke ball detector.

"Even official government trainers are only allowed one pokemon within Saffron City, though I can't imagine why they'd even need one. We keep Saffron City safe enough. Inside the city grounds, we've the lowest crime rate of all the cities in the nations."

"For company, my dear Dirk." Bill eyed his watch next to Rowan's beside the detector, wondering if it had indeed disrupted the system and would block Rowan's thirty extra pokeballs concealed in his briefcase. Bill had programmed the detector's code himself, so hacking it shouldn't be a problem, but if they had added anything... Bill didn't want to imagine the paperwork he'd have to go through. Yet, the guards seemed still to be at ease. "We humans are such sentimentalists. Unlike my insociable boor of a companion, I just can't seem to bring myself to part from all my friends. Especially, this porygon-z."

The guard motioned, and Bill gulped and stepped through, followed closely by Rowan. No, alarms, but of course, there wouldn't be any. Keith's fat face was staring at his monitor, his smile turning into a look of confusion. Swiftly, Bill grabbed for his watch. His hand clasped at nothing. He was shaking, sweating. He'd missed. The embarrassment alone would have been enough to make him faint under normal circumstances, but here they might make him faint for him. Bill managed to get the watch on his wrist, his eyes still locked on Keith's. His body started to feel like it was frozen. Was it the natu? Had they found out? What would they do to him? Keith looked up.

"Uh, Bill, I believe you're mistaken." Keith began.

Bill gulped again, hard, dry. His mouth fumbled with the words, "Wuh, what?"

Keith was smiling again. "It seems the professor has a soft spot for pokemon as well." Bill glared at Rowan; Rowan, teeth gritted, was glaring back. "It seems he's caring a hypno. Wonderful creature, my wife has one as well."

Bill's glare turned to confusion. "Oh, right." And back to a glare at Rowan. And Rowan was stepping quickly towards the entrance into the city, with Bill having the inclination to hurry after. He unstuck his glued feet. He was free, unfrozen, only his stupid imagination. He turned, his smile more fake than usual, and muttered, "thanks, for letting us through."

"And your purpose of visit in Saffron City?" Dirk was eager, looking curious for anything he could brag to his friends about, despite Bill's desire to stay off-the-grid.

"The grandpa here can't stop raging about your take on Rage Candy Bars," Bill called back, feeling his coolness return to his skin, as he stepped through the automatic door into Saffron City.

Rowan was stopped just inside the walled city, sweat pouring down his face. He jumped as the train whistle blew, far away, and muttered, "Ah Ellinore, you'll be pleased for that. Yes, life... beautiful opportunities on the rail... a journey... at least some are getting out of this city alive." Bill only looked on in confusion, as the professor tightened his sweaty grip on his briefcase and started off, the thirty gyarados, swinging back and forth in sway with Rowan's hand, unregistered and unnoticed.

-3-

A white, four-legged absol stood out on the hill, its coat blowing in the wind, it's black scythed-horn shining with the sun. It was majestic, like a slowking standing erect amidst a crowd of lounging slowpokes. Tall pines which hid the sky to the absol's right and left were insignificant, bent in the wind, bowed to the absol. Bursts of leaves and flowers fell about it, dancing, treasuring their time in that surrounding air. Its eyes seemed to gleam in the sunlight and gazed, staring beyond at something unseen. Then, they locked eyes, and there was the slightest, the most infinitesimal of nods.

Reginald Neem hesitated in the middle of his train of thought. Serenity. Thoughtlessness. Purity.

Then, the real train was moving along. The absol was gone.

_I was commenting that you don't actually want to know, that much you do know. That was before you lost your train of thought. _

_ Ah, yes, thanks, Maz. You, however, do know. Those in poke balls are easy enough; the poke balls warp their minds, like any mind in a cage would be warped, but more. That much I do know, but yourself, the hordes in the wild, those legendaries able to raze cities to the ground, those that do indeed exist, the dragons, fierce and proud, even the gyarados— why? Why, when they could? Some maybe would stay in their place in the ever-shrinking wild and fade away slowly into extinction or be captured, but the personality of a pokemon is as varied as with the many personalities of people. Such is witnessed. A single gyarados, a single rogue, could destroy so much. What keeps him in his place? And if he banded with his brothers— oh! the army they could make and the havoc they would bring. Why is man the superior race?_

This question required Maz's reply. He droned, _And our dialogue continues that pokemon are unintelligent. They are said to be imbeciles all, the way I've heard it, Neem._

_ Please, Maz. just go through once more with me, just once more. _Maz, short for Heimdall (Neem was yet ignorant to the method and manner of the shortening, though it seemed to be a custom of the Alakazam. That is, it seemed to be customary for Alakazam to aggrandize their own customs and culture to an incomprehensible level for only the purpose of appearing more majestic to the uninitiated, though, of course, Maz refuted "such a snobbish sentimentality" of his society.), was silent. _Yes, Maz, I am the one who has ridden this train five times this week, five times back and forth between two destinations, but I will start off after I arrive._

_ Again, you don't truly want to know what power keeps the world in check. Leave off. Go enjoy yourself like the other boys of your race. You're afraid that gods do exist and you're afraid that you know that they do. And I'm only your conscience telling you what you already know._

The magnet train pushed ever onward, soaring across the Kanto plains, the same fields over and over, zooming towards another place where Reginald Neem would still remain Reginald Neem. _But not all pokemon are unintelligent, Maz, _he continued. _Sure, a great number are, but there are the psychics. There is yourself. What is stopping the Alakazam from creating cities and going around catching humans and other pokemon? _Maz again kept silent. _It isn't anything humankind has created. I've checked. Pokemon have long been docile to our meek race. There are no radio waves protecting civilization, no musk of repel that keeps a pokemon at bay, nothing, nothing stopping us from being the next snack of a hungry feraligatr, but yet man is the dominant species. Man pushes his boundaries on and on, erecting more cities, destroying more habitats, and the pokemon, all of them recede, recede into the tall grass and the deep seas. Why do they stay in line? Why do men? Why is there not chaos? You know. This is a part of you and you know. Why won't you tell me? _Again, Maz seemed to not be paying attention. _Because I know where to look to find out, you've said. That's why? Fine, I will go. Do you hear that? I'm going_—

_I'm coming._

"What?" Reginald Neem spoke aloud. The young child sitting beside him glanced at him with a startle, the two of them both waking from a reverie and in similar shock. Across the isle, a redheaded beauty was staring at him, as it seemed she had been for some time. She was mouthing something at Neem, slowly articulating her jowl muscles, leaning on the armrest, her arms tucked under her breasts, revealed as a joyous distraction in a comically exaggerated style.

Neem ignored her, disinterested, raising his hand in an apologetic sign to the kid, and returned to Maz, miles away, their thoughts connected telepathically.

_Can you see into the car ahead of yours? _Maz's thought streamed into Neem's head.

Neem looked. His mind pushed through the air, running through the many antsy passengers down the aisle, up through the door, between the cars, and a wall was waiting, repulsing his third eye. _No. What's there? You can't see in?_

_ No, I've never experienced anything like this. I'm coming though._

A dark pokemon blocking the psychic gaze? but the aura was too precise. Neem looked again, his mind probing at all sides. There was no repulse, just blankness and rectangular, the exact dimensions of the car and no stronger or weaker points, the blocking as mechanical as the confines. Not a dark pokemon; something else entirely.

Neem burst up, his bag bumping into the child beside him, and without even a glance at the knocked kid, headed towards the end of the train car.

-1-

Oak was beaming.

The child looked back with a bit of disdain. Ever since the channel had been returned to the kiddy network, the TV had become grossly more boring.

"Look. Even the local taillow are feeling the energy in the summer air," the professor exclaimed with glee. Wherever Oak was, the sun was shining, and a taillow having landed on the earth in front of him was beginning to evolve. A dithering song replaced the audio of chirping taillow, as it became clear that the evolving taillow had started to screech in pain. The bird's feathers rapidly grew, its head snapping back and forth with the cracking and reforming of its own neck bones. Silently screeching with an ever stretching to open further beak, the beak itself began to narrow and pull itself longer, pulling the bulging eyes along with it. Feathers rustled and rearranged. The whole surface of the bird undulating and broken looking. A foot popped larger, mottled red with spreading blood, dyeing the foot and talons as the bird was forced to stand on one leg, before the other lengthened with another jolt. Then, the process ended. The now much larger bird stood calm, fierce, strong and born anew.

"Wow," Prof. Oak's voice returned with the background audio, "this taillow evolved into a swellow."

"One swellow does not make a summer," the child retorted smartly, "isn't that right, Papa?" The child turned around, big, bright eyes gleaming.

The sofa was empty.

"Papa?" the child voiced again, now hesitantly.

"Papa!" The child was standing looking around the room. Where could he have gone? When did he leave? "Ellinore?"

Her desk was empty and she was gone, too. The child started to run. Upstairs. "Ellinore?" Empty. The bathroom. "Ellinore! Ellinore! Mommy!" She wasn't downstairs. She wasn't in the kitchen. She wasn't in the garage.

"Mommy," the child wailed, rushing outside, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"

There was a drop of coldness on the child's cheek. A rain was beginning to fall.

The streets and yards of Viridian City were bleak and empty. Before the child, the dark walls of the abandoned gym loomed up. The boarded windows seemed darker then usual. In the shadows the door was ajar and leading to more shadows. "Mommy?"

A man was talking inside.

"Papa?" The child queried quietly.

There was yelling inside. Something crashed and broke. The child creaked the door open. Deeper darkness lay beyond. "Papa?" the child's voice carried on, echoing around. Papa was surely in that darkness, there was a sense about it.

Feet were shuffling somewhere. The child took a few steps in, dust spinning into the air. There was a path clear of the dust down the middle, broken statues and discarded machinery piled on the sides.

The child shivered when a strange shrill voice rang clear through the dirty hallway, "They call me Mirror Coat now, and we of Team Ditto are all equals."

Someone spat. A strained voice began, "Is that what your boss tells you?" It seemed like Papa's voice, although he sounded very tired. "That you're all equals? That's just sad, Archer. I'll stick with Archer. You were only ever good for licking another's boots, Archer. Imagine a team where you were anybody's equal. Man, Team Rocket really fell into the sludge when I left." The voice was gaining a confidence the child recognized, but there was a cruelness in it as well and that was foreign. "You had the strongest force in all Johto-Kanto and you spent all your energy in finding a replacement for yourself. It was pathetic. You're pathetic. As if I'd go back to a team that had taken you as their leader." Papa had begun a gurgled laugh.

There was a clap and the laughter stopped. "You betrayed me, all of us. I loved you. We all did. But now the mirror has turned to judge you and everything you did shines back upon you, Don Giovanni," the shrill voice enunciated slowly.

The name was all the child heard. It was him. "Papa! Papa!" The child cried, still quietly though with hope. Why had he left to have a meeting in here without saying anything? Why have a meeting in such a rundown place anyways? The child picked up speed running around the corner.

The ceiling opened up into a vast room, the gym's main arena.

There was a group of stern men, dressed in a deep violet, in the middle of the arena clustered around Papa. On his right, a blue-haired head pointed off over him, over Papa, kneeling on the ground, his back against what appeared to be a gigantic rocket. His coat was torn and his face blackened. Something red was dripping from his nose. Blood! Then, the blue-haired man struck Papa, and Papa crumpled limp.

In the silence, the child gasped.

Like a slow-moving glob, the mass of men together turned towards the child. Behind cheap plastic, Team Ditto's ignorant eyes observed the child.

-2-

"What is up with you today? We got in, we're at the rendezvous spot. Why can't you calm down? And who is this Ellinore you keep muttering to yourself about?" Bill asked.

They were on the observation and cafe level of Silph Co. in the dully-named Silph Cafe. Rowan had been staring out the window for 2 long minutes, continually muttering nonsensical babble to himself.

Bill's eyes drifted along the cityscape, seeking any source of Rowan's agitation. The city was home to some of the greatest psychics of the age and their thinking level attracted other philosophers and scholars to live amongst each other. It was here that the magnet train was reinvented after the war left mankind in a brief dark age. Beneath their feet, the headquarters of the leader of modern technologies bustled with scientists, inventors, and geniuses. The more that came, the greater the magnetic pull, and as they say, the magnemite became a magneton and the magneton a magnezone, merging into one giant hive of minds. However, from above, all those intellectuals looked like just that. From here they could be men or durant crawling about on the whitewashed hive of streets below and no one would know the difference.

Everything was white, white-walled buildings and white walls surrounding parks filled with rare white grass and white enigma berry-laden trees. There were dashes of saffron, the color the city was named after, in smaller buildings, but on the surface most of the color was subdued.

It was beneath, Bill knew, that the vibrant color of the city shone. The safety level and already security-heavy design of the city eased the creation of the most prominent prison in the nations, Saffron City's Prism Penitentiary. The worst criminals, those not sent to Orre for hard labor, were there below. Beneath the serene surface, the most tumultuous men of all time were locked away. Bill didn't know the psychic securities in place there, but they were probably in a whole other league from what they had just crossed through. The thought crossed his mind, "That psychic take-over of the thief in the customs line, I must say, it got my heart racing just like a rapidash. I've never seen anything like it."

At this, Rowan, momentarily ceased his muttering and spoke in full sentences, though his eyes remained unfocused, staring out at the horizon, "The mind of a common man is good for violence; it comes first to his mind to clobber a target or smash an opponent. But it is not those fists, those limbs, that separate men from pokemon. It is the mind, and the tools the mind makes. The simple man, seeing his own tactics in his enemy, tells his pokemon to shut off an opponent's fists. Those natu left that thief's mind intact. Foolish, foolish. It would be simpler to shut the man's mind off with a hypnosis and then direct him from there. Simpler and safer. What if the target were a psychic himself? Safer for the target as well. An alien's use of one's own limbs, things which are most private to a person, would be more than enough to break any man. Imagine, a stranger in your own body, trapped, forced to watch, impotent, weak, powerless. It would be like being raped, but all over and no way to fight back. While hypnosis, hypnosis is like falling asleep, an idea welcomed and not so alien at all."

Bill stared at the old man for a bit, "You want the most traumatic thing ever to get you while you sleep?"

Rowan smiled, "You'll see. It's the proper way of doing it. You'll see, Ellinore.

"Bah! Ellinore, Ellinore, Ellinore! Are you feeling sleepy yourself? Perhaps I _should_ go get you one of those Rage Candy Bars. It might wake you up."

"Yes." Rowan whispered.

Bill paused, taken aback, expecting more, expecting something reasonable.

"Yes," Rowan repeated more fervently. "Go. Get one and get yourself one as well. Go. Go, while you can..."

Bill had been joking. He was okay with leaving the old timer to himself; Rowan wasn't the greatest conversationalist or even one that made sense. Bill liked talking to himself as well, "but my ramblings make sense. I am a practical man and a practical speaker." Bill didn't notice that he had indeed begun speaking aloud. An older couple had fallen asleep at their table, near the bar. "Maybe this is what the man is like every time he leaves the lab. Scientists just aren't meant to be in the real world, but I thought perhaps a peaceful city like that of Saffron would be soothing for an old man like himself. Nothing scary here." The bar patrons were snoozing soundly as well, a shattered bottle of ale on the ground. No one seemed to be tending the bar. "Op! There he is." Bill spotted the bartender; the man had lain down behind his counter. Bill decided to reach over grabbing a couple packaged Rage Candy Bars and stuffing them in his bag.

Bill's eyes closed and he yawned. They came back open as his chin slammed into the bar. He stumbled around, forgetting the pain.

In the middle of the cafe, tables askew, amid scattered, broken plates and sleeping customers, there was a hunched, broad-faced, white bearded, naked, saffron grandpa peering at him. He was holding a metal washer on a string. Curious? No, it was a hypno— maybe? Bill wasn't positive, but his hand reached down, fingering his belt, like a sleepy cowboy.

-3-

Reginald Neem was at the door to the other train car. He was a blind man, unable to see anything ahead of him. His fingers touched the metal door hesitantly. It was real. His mind could manage to recognize the door and the gears inside. Locked, of course, but with a keypad on the side. Hacking the door might be difficult, all of modern technology was hidden by encryptions and firewalls and safety locks, but like a spoon to any psychic mind, there were no firewalls and there was no door and there is no spoon.

The redhead was leaning around, peeking at what he was doing like a curious persian. Internally, Neem's heart almost leaped from his throat. How did she manage to sneak up on him? Her finger was in her mouth, "Hey, what'cha doing?"

For a moment Neem was curious himself, but the black stretched out before him and there was something pressing about that nothingness. He took a deep breath. There was a vitality about the woman's brain that he'd never felt before, but it wasn't often that he did this. Just a slight press against this lobe, then, _Go away._ Simultaneously, Neem began pushing at the levers holding the door in place, and sliding them open.

The woman hesitated. She looked dejected and spoke like a wounded child, "Well, bye, Sudowoodo." She walked away. Neem watched her go.

The door opened.

_A curious thing for her to say, Neem, but deal with her later. What's in the next car? What's hiding within?_

Neem cleared his mind blocking all the wayward thoughts that seemed to stream out at the stranger's words, yet he still couldn't psychically examine the space, and it was dark within. He stepped in.

Darkness was solid around him. He tried to blink it away. Neem blinked and thousands of voltorbs blinked back, their sheen spherical bodies blinking red and yellow.

-1-

A circle of the men were inching closer. Papa looked groggy unable to say something.

The blue-haired man spoke instead, "Look at the thing cry. Is it yours, Giovanni?"

Papa was mumbling, "Run, run," but there was a fire building inside of the child and the child was already running, over at the wall, grabbing pokeball after pokeball off a storage wall and tossing them behind. Most balls were empty, and a few of the team members had begun to chortle at the futile efforts. A taillow materialized in the midst of broken pokeball halves.

The pokemon was weak, but the trainer with the reins had a fierce spirit raging up growing. The child's hand was outstretched, pointing and an anger propelled the words out, "Taillow, destroy them."

A wobbufett dropped from a huskier member's hand. "Counter." The taillow screeched into a dive bomb, but the blue punching bag popped up to take the hit and the bird slammed into the arena floor at its opponent's feet. Now the Team Ditto member was laughing, "A taillow. You expect to take us all on with such a weakling?"

-2-

The pokeball flew clumsily through the air. Bill waited. No porygon-z popped out. "Did I actually forget my own pokemon? And Dirk just stood there and said nothing." The empty ball arced downwards, blurring with the lights, and smacked against the hypno's forehead.

Bill's head cleared, slightly. There was an explosion far away. "Rowan!" Bill stumbled forward, using tackle on the stunned hypno and knocking the lightweight to the ground. A giant gyarados bellowed past the window. Windows burst. Bill put his hands to his aching ears. What the hell was going on? The old man. Was he in trouble?

Bodies littered the cafe, but they seemed to be sleeping. Bill weaved his way between knocked over tables. "Rowan!" he called. There were fires outside in the city. Bill turned the corner.

Rowan was still standing there contentedly. The window in front of him was smashed and there were discarded pokeball shells strewn about his feet with the shattered glass, yet he kept his eyes on the horizon, his mouth still muttering— nonsense no doubt. Another gyarados screamed in front of Rowan and a blast of wind rushed through the cafe, carrying glass and pokeball shells with it. Rowan embraced the blast. Bill shielded his face. Again, he wondered what the hell was going on?

"ROWAN! ROWAN!"

-3-

_Maz, don't teleport, but this is definitely a problem. Don't panic. Don't panic. What do I do? _He began thinking to himself.

A passenger who must have seen what Neem was seeing screamed. Others noticed the problem. Others panicked.

The blinking was repeating faster and faster. These balls of energy were about to explode. He could stop one, disarm it, but there were too many. Too many. A quarter of this number could kill everyone on the train. A single one in the right place could level this train. What good would stopping one of them do? Overloaded, Neem stood there. There was nothing he could do. No response came from Maz. His face brightened red, then glowed yellow, then white, then red again. What had the red-headed girl known about him? The child in the seat next to him flashed into Neem's mind. And that absol. Had it stood as a warning of the oncoming danger?

Neem took a deep breath and braced himself for death.

-1-

The taillow was driven into the ground once more. A weezing's purple mass had planted itself on top of the bird, lungs squished and gasping for air as a poisonous fume filled the expecting space.

Tears were falling from the child's eyes. The bird had done nothing. It was pathetic. There was nothing the child could do about it. "CHANGE!" the child yelled.

The laughter stopped for a moment at the vicious outburst.

"EVOLVE! You stupid bird, why are you so weak? Why don't you do something?" The laughter returned redoubled. "CHANGE! EVOLVE!"

The taillow was no longer moving underneath the weight of the weezing. Running to kick at it, the child screamed, "WHY DON'T YOU FIGHT BACK? HELP ME! DO SOMETHING, I'M HELPLESS! MOMMY! MOMMY! HELP!"

A purple fist knocked the child to the ground and the child rolled, bloody spit falling from the mouth. And the child moaned and writhed in agony, bawling, screaming.

-2-

"I'm sorry, Ellinore." Rowan eyed his hands. They were shaking.

"What? Why? Rowan, what's going on?" Bill screamed. A tempest of wind was billowing around the tower and Bill's head was growing cloudy once more.

"Oh, there you are Bill." Rowan glanced Bill's way, then back over the precipice. He was whispering, but the wind seemed to carry the words to Bill's ears. "There's nothing I could have done, nothing. You'll understand, Ellinore. If anyone, you will. There was nothing I could do."

Then, Rowan in his own daze stepped out the window. "NO!" Bill yelled, tumbling onto the floor, but a gyarados had passed under the window and Rowan was riding it up and away, sparkling off into the distance.

Bill smiled and his droopy eyes lowered to the city. A heatmor had been unleashed on the durant colony. Fire leapt from building to building, car to crashed car. Explosions grew more frequent. Bill watched, disturbingly calm as buildings crumbled beneath the awesome strength of thirty unleashed gyarados ripping through walls and stone and people like paper.

-3-

_Maz!_

Maz was there. His spoon-filled hands were outstretched, protecting Neem, his mustache was waving with psychic waves, but it was so bright Neem couldn't really make his friend out.

The passengers were screaming.

It was getting hotter and hotter. Everything blended into white.

-1-

It was becoming dark; the child's eye had puffed up and would have been unable to see anything even if there weren't large bodies crowding above, encroaching around, absorbing.

Someone was still yelling "Run!" over and over, but the child couldn't quite hear that.

Helpless all.

Team Ditto descended.


End file.
